


Basic

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, F/M, Fluff, boss and assistant, snapshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-02-01 04:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21371788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: Percy chooses family over work once and this is what happens.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Percy Weasley
Comments: 55
Kudos: 79
Collections: Pumpkin & Ginger Fall Fest





	Basic

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was written for the Weasleys, Witches, & Writers Pumpkin & Ginger Fall Fest. It isn't a very long piece, but my muse was fickle and I wanted to be part of this fest so badly, so I did what I could. Thanks to the admins for putting together such a fun, Weasley-centric fest!
> 
> **Prompt:** Percy Weasley is a basic wizard who likes his pumpkin spice latte at precisely 68 degrees Celsius. His assistant can never get it right, but Percy can't bring himself to fire her.

Laugh at him all you want, Percy doesn’t mind. In fact, he’s grown accustomed to letting the little things, like jokes at his expense, roll off his shoulders. There’s nothing more cruel than one’s own mind, at any rate. Besides, when you grow up with Charles for an older brother, and Fred and George trailing on your heels constantly, you learn to take a hit. Or several, for that matter.

In fact, contrary to popular belief, it’s not Percy who is an insufferable git. No. That title — and believe him, there is a title with an award signed by each of the other six siblings — belongs to none other than William, who’d gone and ruined their entire childhood by coming home with an earring, for Merlin’s sake. Mum never quite recovered and somehow managed to tighten her already restrictive chains. Ask any of the Weasley children; none would dispute it. William is a rogue, and a careless one at that.

“Perce.”

He looks up over horn-rimmed glasses with tight, blue eyes. “Not now, Ginevra, I’m busy.”

She steals into the room anyway with her pungent Quidditch kit drenching his little den in sweat and dirt. He wrinkles his nose and sighs.

“We’re a man short. You promised you’d play!” Ginny stands on the opposite side of his desk with her hands on her hips. He wonders, briefly, if she realizes that she’s already adopting their mother’s nature. And just as overbearing, to boot. “Fred and George said you can play Keeper. Come on!”

Percy pulls the glasses off his face and tosses them onto his tidy desk, right on top of the scroll he’d been writing pertaining to the Restrictions on Brass Astronomy Telescopes. Another day, he supposes; this will put him behind by six hours, and he’s already two days behind at the office. This weekend is his only chance to catch up and yet, as Ginevra’s eyes plead with him to be a Good Big Brother, he gives in with a weary glance to her manky clothes.

“Alright, fine,” he says, heavy on a sigh for dramatic effect. “But only because I value time with my family at the weekend and not because your silly begging works.”

In pure Ginevra fashion, his baby sister tears from the room with a devilish smile on her face, shouting for the twins ‘the specky git agreed.’

Percy knows that no matter what he does, or how many times he agrees to whatever mental thing his siblings want him to partake in, he’ll always be the specky git to them.

And that’s fine. He has other means of satisfying his need for veneration.

* * *

  
  


Percy Weasley is a basic wizard who likes his pumpkin spice latte at precisely sixty eight degrees Celsius. His assistant can never get it right, but Percy can't bring himself to fire her. She approaches his desk in a tight little skirt that hugs her arse and kisses the middle of her thighs. She’s wearing those stockings that he likes, with the thick black seam down the back, and those high heel shoes that make his mouth water.

He doesn’t act on his urges, of course. How could he? A Weasley and a Parkinson? It just wouldn’t do.

But, it doesn’t stop him looking and admiring. The way her bust fills out a blouse, how her petite hands clench around the hot polystyrene cup. And, when her perfectly white teeth cut into the dark red painted flesh of her lips, Percy uses all his willpower not to encourage the growing erection hidden by his organized, parchment-covered desk.

It’s late in the afternoon and a Monday, his least favorite of the week. Mondays are for catching up over the weekend. But, since he’s already two days behind — four, if you count the weekend itself — there’s no way that he’s leaving the office until after sundown. The only thing to make it better is the sight of Pansy’s manicured fingers depositing a scrumptious smelling latte on his specifically designated coaster.

“Will there be anything else, Mister Weasley?” Pansy offers him a demure smile and tucks her chin so that her dark, silky hair falls over her shoulders.

Percy lets his eyes linger on the way she smooths her shirt over her flat stomach, and then drags his eyes up to hers slowly. “Not presently, Miss Parkinson. It will be a late evening. Might I suggest fetching dinner?”

“Certainly, sir,” she says just the way he likes — like he’s important, like she wants to please him. Those heavy lidded eyes catch the setting sun from the window behind him, and they flash beautifully as her chin tilts. “Do you have a preference?”

“A nice curry, perhaps. Not too spicy, with extra naan.” He can’t help it that he’s a man who knows what he likes, after all. “Something flavorful, if you please.”

“Oh—” her lips quirk, the bow bending in a way that makes his cock twitch. “I do  _ please _ .”

And then she’s gone, a flash of a twirl and sashaying her hips until the door closes behind her. Percy takes a deep breath, shares a secret smile to himself, and puts quill to parchment. His reports aren’t going to write themselves, after all.

* * *

  
  
  


It’s over curry — so spicy that he can hardly breathe from it — that their professional relationship turns into something more. She runs around his room, despite the fact that she has a wand holstered somewhere on her person, and fetches him a tall glass of water.

She also trips over a snag in the carpet and launches eighteen ounces worth of cold water towards his person.

  
He jumps from his desk, worried the most about all the work he’s managed to get done on overtime becoming utterly ruined, and casts a quick spell to protect the parchment. He’s absolutely soaked, white button up practically see through. He loosens his maroon tie and unsnags the buttons one by one without a care that Pansy is standing on the other side of his desk with a sheepish smile and curious, wandering eyes.

  
The expanse of his freckled skin is revealed from chest to trail of light hair that leads below the band of his pants, and when he raises his eyes to hers, he watches her watching him. His rousing erection is barely hidden behind the thick trousers he’d chosen in the morning. Percy shrugs the button up from his shoulders and lays the fabric over the back of his chair.

“Miss Parkinson,” he says with that air of warning in his voice that he’s found she responds beautifully to. “Are you going to stand there and gawk, or are you going to assist?”

She comes to, jolting slightly before scurrying around his desk. Her wand is out, pointing at the sodden shirt as she siphons water from it. “Sorry, Mister Weasley. I didn’t mean to—”

“Pansy.” He wraps his fingers around her wrist and tugs her gently to face him. She’s startled with wide, dark eyes and a faint blush high on her perfect, angular cheekbones. “I meant—” he glances down at the definite bulge in his trousers, “assist the _ rising _ issue, not the  _ solved  _ one.”

Her lips form a perfect ‘O’ even as her eyes darken. “Well, then, why didn’t you just say?”

He had, actually, but lets it go because her fingers are on the button of his trousers and she’s lowering herself to the ground in front of him. His head falls back as her lips engulf him, and his lips quirk at the stained ceiling tiles above his head.

And to think, he had very nearly agreed to join his family for dinner this evening instead of working late… 


End file.
